


Gather All Hunters, the Trumpet Calls

by Zanne



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Gen, Wild Hunt
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-06-08
Updated: 2011-06-08
Packaged: 2017-10-19 21:27:47
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,201
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/205385
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Zanne/pseuds/Zanne
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p> Sam and Dean find out what eternity means for a Hunter.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Gather All Hunters, the Trumpet Calls

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks to my super-beta team - [](http://lyonie17.livejournal.com/profile)[**lyonie17**](http://lyonie17.livejournal.com/), [](http://xtinethepirate.livejournal.com/profile)[**xtinethepirate**](http://xtinethepirate.livejournal.com/), and [](http://tigriswolf.livejournal.com/profile)[**tigriswolf**](http://tigriswolf.livejournal.com/). Kripke owns the Winchesters. I mixed different versions of the Hunt to create this, and absolutely no insult is intended to those  who may view the Hunt in a different way. This is all entirely fictional. It's also way #2 to get John out of Hell, though he didn't really fare much better in this. Thanks to [](http://nonniemous.livejournal.com/profile)[ **nonniemous**](http://nonniemous.livejournal.com/)  for the awesome banner that I just learned to put up!

[](%5BIMG%5Dhttp://i130.photobucket.com/albums/p245/ZanneS/s640x480.png%5B/IMG%5D)   


  
The shadows flickered over the fire-lit cavern walls, the stone sheared clear by the cut of claws through the once molten rock. Smoothed over eons by the rubbing of soft flesh attempting to find security with backs to solid walls, the light reflected off the stony surface like the oil-slick skin of polished obsidian. Stains of what may have been blood, or perhaps merely the gleam of ore-rich veins trapped in the rock, colored the rippling interior and made the walls seem alive - even in the depths where nothing living came willingly anymore.

“By right of heart’s blood trade and forsworn soul, he is _mine_ ,” the child hissed angrily, rising from the floor in an explosion of motion. Its current body seemed far too delicate to contain such rage, its little girl’s face twisting into something hideous as the demon swelled to the forefront. The demon, housed so tenuously inside its human shell, threatened to break through the cracks now lining the form’s pale, freckled skin.

“ _Kneel_!” the darker shape growled, the fury drenching its tone making the roiling shadows swell in size. The sound rippled through the empty space, slinking along the cracks and crags in the rock as if a living entity, making the room colder by degrees.

The yellow-eyed demon resumed its place with a subdued grumble, head bowed nearly to the floor with its blonde ringlets gleaming like tangled corn silk across the rock. It muttered in a cloud of icy breath, “But, Father, it is not _fair_!”

The black shadow laughed, a rumble that shook the room. “Since when has fair ever entered our dealings?” The voice gentled, merely a slight tremor darkened with a light touch of pain. “By right of the Hunt and of the Old Law, the ErlKing has dominion over this soul.”

The demon ground its teeth, the sound sharp in the stony hall. “You would take what is mine, Cernunnos?” Its yellowed eyes glowered with unquenchable fury at the tall figure standing in the shadows across the room, maintaining an aloof distance from the maelstrom enacted for his benefit. The muscles of the figure’s bare arms rippled as his hand clenched around the battle-ax hanging loosely at his side, a subtle warning that his patience was coming to an end.

The ErlKing stepped forward, bringing with him the soft scent of the forest undercut with the faint tang of blood. “You cannot break the Old Law. Hunters belong to _me_ , both body and soul. The Law was sewn into the very fabric of Creation,” he declared in an animalistic growl, as if the words rolling through the serrated canines were left shredded and bleeding from his mouth.

The ErlKing turned his tiger gaze in the direction of the kneeling demon, offering it the same consideration as he might a roach that crossed his path. The flames behind him cast his elongated silhouette over the stone floor, the shadowy antlers crowning his head reaching like grasping hands for the yellow-eyed creature that cringed away from the phantom touch.

“You should train your Child to show proper respect to its Elders,” the ErlKing stated, coldly dismissing the sniveling creature still on the floor.

A sharp baying of hounds came tearing through the hall, the growls and barks nearly able to slash the flesh from the bones of those mortals unlucky enough to hear them coming. With a side-long glance of those predator’s eyes, the ErlKing bowed slightly at the coiling shadows, demanding more than asking for his leave. “The Hunt grows restless. It is time to take my new Huntsman and train him before the Solstice.”

The smoke sighed, a shift in the darkness granting permission. “Take him as is your due. I will deal with what is mine.”

With that, the burly man swept out of the cavern, his horns barely scraping the high ceiling, leaving a shower of sparks in his wake. His hunting cloak swirled regally behind him, the writhing forest-green fabric suggesting the subtle ripple of branches as a predator slunk its way soundlessly through the leaves. The growls and snarls outside increased in volume, welcoming their Master, as the howls of the disobedient yellow-eyed Child joined with the frenzied baying of the Hunter’s hounds until the world echoed with the sounds of their screaming.

                                                                          ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Sam jerked awake, his brow damp with sweat as he shifted uneasily beneath the ragged coverlet. Taking several deep breaths, he whispered shakily across the room, “Dean? Did you hear that?”

“Hear wha-?” his brother mumbled, curling around his pillow without bothering to open his eyes.

“Dogs,” Sam explained, settling back against the sweat-dampened sheets. “Maybe there’s a feral pack in town.” He glanced furtively at the shadows leaping over the walls as the trees scratched against the windowpane, feeling a frisson of fear tickle along his spine.

“Y’r dreamin’,” Dean explained drowsily, rolling over onto his back with his body splayed open and vulnerable across the bed. “G’back t’sleep, Sam.”

“Sure,” Sam replied softly as he curled onto his side, subconsciously protecting his soft underbelly from tearing teeth and claws. “It was just a dream.”

                                                                          ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Sam stared idly out of the side window, watching the endlessly whipping screen of trees flow across the glass like water. Their father’s journal lay open and ignored on his lap, carefully cradled in the wide V of his legs as he tried to sprawl out, claiming as much of the front seat as he could through sheer perseverance and unbridled faith in his own immense size. Sam lost himself in the blurred images he caught outside the swiftly speeding car, the repetitious scenery fading into farmhouse after farmhouse lulling him into a lazy-lidded stupor, as if they were caught in an incessantly running spool of film – no highways or by-ways to alter the course of their current path.

As Sam’s knee edged disturbingly close to the invisible line marking Dean’s territory, his brother slammed on the brakes, throwing Sam forward as the journal flew to the floor of the car with a heavy thud. Sam was saved from being plastered to the windshield with the good luck of quick reflexes and unnaturally long limbs.

“Dammit, Dean!” Sam growled less than good-naturedly. “That’s not funny.”

“Wake up, princess,” Dean replied with a mocking smirk as a few straggling sheep made their way across what could barely be considered the main road. “You should be researchin’.” An older farmhand tipped his hat in their direction, thanking them for stopping as he slowly hobbled his way across the cracked pavement after his animals.

People had been going missing – adults throughout the year, but at the height of summer and winter, it was always children. Add the fact that this community was slowly dying out as the younger generations moved away to the cities and the loss became particularly noticeable as time went on, slowly spreading farther and farther out from the epicenter of the disappearances.

Most of the disappearances were blamed on the vast forests that spread over the area, concealing various carnivores within their leafy screens that could easily carry off a small child or devour a lost, injured man; some were even accredited to the sporadically placed marshes that could suck a person down, cocooned in the soft silky mud, never to be found unless the area was drained for farming and the cracked earth revealed its heretofore unknown secrets. Neither Sam nor Dean, or apparently their father, had bought either story, as plausible as they might seem to the uninitiated.

Sam frowned crossly at Dean as he leaned over to pick up the journal from between his feet, tucking loose papers back in randomly.

“This is weird, Dean,” Sam murmured off-handedly, pausing as he flipped through their father’s journal, the yellowing pages at the front of the small, leather-bound book slowly lightening as the newer entries slid past Sam’s nimble fingers. “You see this?”

Sam held open a page that held a badly taped photo of them as children, Dean’s cheeks bright red beneath his blue knit cap as he attempted to bury a much smaller Sam headfirst in the snow. A small wedge of paper had slid out from behind the loosening picture. Curious, the brothers glanced at each other before Sam carefully tugged it loose and awkwardly folded out a small map of the United States; covered with sporadic dots and dashes of bright yellow, towns and sometimes entire regions were highlighted in that cautionary shade that subconsciously hinted _Warning_ , even to the most mundane of thinkers.

Dean snorted. “That’s a placemat from Denny’s…Hardee’s, maybe. Remember? They’d have pictures to color and educational crap on it. You always wanted the boring ones.”

Sam studied their father’s familiar scrawl eating up the emptiness on the back side of the map. “It says we should stay away from here this time of year – it says we should stay away from _any_ of these areas.” Sam focused back on the map, his finger tracing over the splashes of color dotting the paper as he continued, “He’s even written down places in other _countries_ , Dean – France, Norway, Germany, Russia… _everywhere_.”

Sam absently rubbed the pad of his index finger over the small question marks encircling the name of their destination like a flock of hungry birds, the darkness of their marking indicating their father’s frustration about something he didn’t have an answer to.

“So you’re sayin’ we should just let whatever’s takin’ these kids go?” Dean asked bluntly. “Because Dad once went crazy with a highlighter?”

Sam pressed his lips together in exasperation before replying, “No, what I’m saying is that maybe we should wait a few days until it’s…safe.”

His brow furrowed with concern, Sam’s lips pursed in thought as he turned to stare out the window again, hoping to be distracted once more by the sinuous curves of the open fields now rippling along the roadside like a dizzying sheet of silk.

“Since when are you takin’ Dad’s word on _anything_?” Dean asked incredulously. “You finally listenin’ to him from beyond the grave?” Dean’s hands tightened on the steering wheel as he said, “We’re not lettin’ something get a chance to take another kid, Sam. We just don’t do that.”

Dean refused to be drawn into the lull of the road shimmering before them, squinting purposefully at the sharply defined shape of the sun just over the horizon until his eyes burned.

“Yeah, Dean,” Sam agreed with a sigh. “I know.” He stuck the map back where he’d found it, slowly closing the journal and letting it drop to the floor of the Impala with a muffled thunk, out of sight and out of mind.

                                                                        ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

“God-dammit, Sam,” Dean grunted, running through the fine mist of rain that obscured their vision in the slowly darkening afternoon. The sun had long ago been masked by the clouds and their watches had mysteriously stopped working shortly after entering the heavy depths of the forest; they had no way to tell how close to dark it really was. “We can’t lose it! If it goes to ground now, we’re fucked!”

Sam hated these summer storms that swept in, wrapping everything in the unpleasant sensation of warm cotton wool – the mugginess that made even the simple act of breathing feel as if his face were swathed in damp cloth. He sprinted past his brother, feet sliding on the wet leaves in a graceful display of pure dumb luck. Sam skidded to a stop when the trees suddenly fell away, leaving them exposed at the edge of a marshy glade, the warm greens and soft tans of the summer foliage melting into a nearly barren expanse of mud and scrub brush.

A large, awkward creature lumbered clumsily through the muck, its hunched back and gnarled limbs giving it the appearance of an oddly mobile tree stump or moss-covered rock. Dean came up behind Sam, panting roughly before taking a deep breath and aiming the shotgun at the thing trying to make its way deeper into the swampy glade.

“It’s some kind of wood sprite,” Sam explained breathlessly. “Got the iron rounds loaded?” He blew impatiently at the damp tendrils of hair that curled across his eyeline, the back of his shirt clinging to his skin with a mix of sweat and rain.

“Yeeeesss,” Dean hissed softly, his entire focus on the thing’s bobbing head as he ignored the trickles of sweat stinging his eyes, and with this soft exhale he pulled the trigger. The wood sprite’s skull exploded in a spray of sap-thick ichor and pulpy clumps of vegetation, its body collapsing in a messy heap several yards away.

“Get to it, Sammy,” Dean breathed, his cheeks flushed with the thrill of victory. “Cut out its heart before it heals.” Dean absently rubbed his shirtsleeve across his face, momentarily clearing off the dampness, but leaving a streak of mud across his forehead.

With a frustrated grunt, Sam slogged his way through the mud, kneeling in the growing puddles as the muck oozed around his weight, staining his jeans from knees to ankles. “Thanks, Dean,” Sam grumbled. “Next time, I get to do the shooting, okay?”

“Sure, Sam. Next time we hunt this thing, you get to shoot it,” Dean agreed amicably, following a short distance behind his brother. “Start cuttin’, Rachel Ray.”

Sam reached for the knife sheathed on his belt, murmuring, “This doesn’t make sense, Dean. These things don’t kill kids. They don’t even like interacting with people all that much. It’s a nature spirit, not even a meat-eater!”

Dean shrugged. “We tracked it from the last site. It’s what we were lookin’ for, Sam.” He watched Sam with thinly disguised amusement as Dean tapped the side of his boots with the butt of his shotgun, knocking sticky clumps of mud from his heels.

Sam grunted once more, stabbing the blade hilt deep in the thing’s chest as he opened it from neck to sternum. With a grimace of distaste, he reached into the open cavity, the black blood coating his hand like ink as he fished around for the heart.

Sam wrinkled his nose in disgust as the smell of the creature’s innards blended unpleasantly with the scent of rotting vegetation seeping from the swampy loam surrounding them. After delving into the body for nearly a minute, a grin of satisfaction flickered over Sam’s features as he pulled out what looked like a small snarl of roots, the ink-black blood dripping freely into the muck as the rain slowly washed Sam’s hand clean.

When the heart dissolved into a clumpy mess that clung thickly to Sam’s palm, the sky above them tore open with a visible tremble, ripping over their heads with an audile sound as a sickly light bled from the wound in the air. A sudden flash of lightning overpowered the sun as it sank almost gratefully below the horizon, a wall of horseflesh and snarling dogs pouring over them, flooding their nostrils with the heavy scent of sweat, blood, and rotting meat. The aroma made their stomachs roil in disgust as the brothers ducked, huddling into balls on the muddy ground as the horses and their riders leapt over them, sharply reining in their steeds when they landed.

The horses responded with shrill, angry screams of defiance, fighting the curb of the bit as they cut at the air with their razor sharp front hooves, their muscles jerking and twitching with the need to run. The group of approximately twenty or so milled in confusion and a barely subdued eagerness, their riders’ eyes glittering dangerously from beneath their hooded cloaks as the nervous horses snapped and bit at each other’s flanks. Large, black-furred dogs growled warningly at the brothers as they sinuously wound their way through the stamping hooves and thick muscled legs of the horses, nostrils flaring at the scent of fresh meat.

“Dude, is this the Apocalypse? I totally forgot to write that in my schedule,” Dean grumbled, slowly rising to his feet as he warily eyed the riders, firmly gripping Sam’s arm. “I think the operative word here might be _run_.”

“ _Stay_ ,” the largest rider ordered, his gleaming hawk-eyed gaze cutting through the dimness. The group had brought their own illumination, a ghostly incandescence lighting the area; it starkly outlined the riding party, yet left all but the leader’s face colored in shades of inky black within the protective cover of their hoods.

Sam glanced up at the figure seated so regally on his steed, taking in the large spread of antlers and broad shoulders, his sinewy muscles reigning in the pale beast he rode. “Woden?” he asked, with only the slightest hesitation. “The Hunter?”

Sam’s eyes skirted the unyielding feverish gleam of that hypnotic amber gaze hooded under the man’s delicately feathered brows. Sam was unable to meet his eyes without feeling a sudden surge of something like desire – the desire to rend and to tear, to taste the blood of freshly downed prey as he cut its still beating heart from its mangled body. He shook off the sudden swell of adrenaline with a shudder of loathing, almost tasting the sharp tang of blood on the back on his tongue.

The figure nodded a fraction, his smile less than comforting as his sharpened teeth shone ferally in the light of the cloud-shrouded moon. “That is one of my names,” he agreed with a rolling purr. “It is good to be remembered.”

“Oh _shit_ ,” Dean muttered succinctly, his own shudder throwing off the sudden rush of need to have a sharp blade in his hand - to peel the skin off a still living creature as its final screams sharpened into something almost orgasmically gratifying.

The ErlKing’s voice came once more, sharp enough to draw blood as his tone deepened to something made of nightmares. “You have killed my grounds-man. You have sacrificed at the Gate and drawn the Hunt to this location years too early. The quarry is too young to hunt, as of yet.”

Cernunnos gestured to the side, where Sam and Dean could barely make out a veiled shimmer. It revealed a herd of ghost-white fawns with flaming eyes, their muzzles dark with old blood as they tore at a heap of bones wearing the scraps of a tiny, pink dress.

“The _kids_ ,” Dean breathed roughly, wincing as he turned away. Sam took a shallow breath, his eyes sliding closed as he tried to avoid the image that he now knew would be worming its way into his nightmares on a permanent basis.

“You disapprove?” the ErlKing asked with inexplicable amusement. “’Tis not my doing that my quarry is no longer numerous. In the long ago time, there were creatures aplenty to please my Hunt – vampires, Hell hounds, werewolves, spirits…so many that human Hunters were needed to cull the herds so that they did not deplete the human prey needed to keep my quarry fed.” Cernunnos sighed with something like disappointment. “They did their job too well – the stock was nearly depleted and now I must do what I can to provide extra game for my amusement.”

“But you kill _humans_ ,” Dean stated in angry confusion.

“Humans have never been challenging sport,” Cernunnos declared, “but we must make do when the game is lean.”

“I’m taking that as a big _yes_ ,” Dean murmured to Sam. “We’re toast.”

The ErlKing smiled at them, his eyes gleaming pure gold with satisfaction. “Since you dared to summon the Master of the Hunt, you will take the place of our quarry.”

“No fuckin’ way!” Dean protested, ready to step forward before Sam grabbed him by the back of his jacket to hold him in place. This sharp-eyed predator did not look like one who would take Dean’s objections with anything less than full prejudice.

“We will grant you a ten minute lead,” Cennunos informed them. “If you evade death until sunrise, you shall be free to go.”

“Wait a second,” Sam began. “This is a mistake! We didn’t summon you….”

The bold stare of the ErlKing never wavered as he gazed down on them from his mount, his fellow Hunters turning as one in their direction. The horses’ nostrils flared wide, taking in their scent as the dogs hunched down, low growls trickling over the mud like a questing touch - an odd sort of echolocation making Sam and Dean break out in a slight sweat at the thought of those teeth finding a hold in their fragile flesh.

Cernunnos cocked his head to the side, his eyes flickering from the two men to the milling hounds growling threateningly at the Hunt’s feet. “To make the game more equal, my hounds will not be used for this hunt. Otherwise, I may as well kill you now.” He smiled, in a way that may have been meant to be reassuring, but completely failed when his pointed teeth flashed deathly white against his tan skin.

Hearing their Master’s quiet command, the hounds slunk off to the right, their thin-lidded glares caressing the brothers’ skins as the dogs’ red-tipped ears flicked forward angrily, teeth gleaming warningly in the light of the moon. One caught Dean’s eye, and the beast ran its long pink tongue along its snout, caressing its sharpened canines with an almost promissory rumble in its throat, making Dean shiver with nervous anticipation.

The Hunter to the right of Cernunnos tugged on his reins, his steed’s head arching back in rebellion as the Rider leaned forward slightly, his face still hidden as his horse tapped a foreleg firmly against the ground in question. A silver spray of rowan pinned his cloak in place, denoting the Rider’s rank as second only to the Master of the Hunt - that small, shiny piece of metal symbolizing more power than the weapons strapped to the other men and their beasts. A rough sound of confusion, almost a word, spilled from the darkness of his cloak, causing the ErlKing to snap his head in his direction, rumbling a soft warning that made the Rider stop still and melt back with the others.

Cernunnos swung his gaze back in their direction, his eyes narrowed as he contemplated the men still standing before him. With that cold, golden gaze burning their skin, Sam and Dean turned as one and ran off into the forest.

                                                                             ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The Wild Hunt, led by Herne, Cernunnos, Woden, or a list of countless other minor deities, had been a thing of legend since man first gathered together for protection from what hid out of sight in the darkness. The basics stayed the same – the Master of the Hunt, no matter what name he went by, his Riders and his hounds, participating in an endless Hunt that would end only when the world did.

That had to kind of suck.

The quarry changed from story to story – sometimes spirits of the dead or larger than usual animals, sometimes adulterous women or unbaptized children, sometimes creatures not supposedly ever seen on human soil; that seemed to depend on where the Hunt was located. The moral of the story never wavered – do not attract the interest of the Hunt because once they had the scent, they would follow their quarry until the ends of the earth – never ceasing, never resting until what they hunted was dead.

The Winchesters were screwed big time.

“We don’t have a chance,” Sam panted as they wove their way recklessly through the trees, their rain-wet clothes sticking like a second skin. The moon lit their path, casting strange shadows that kept them nervous and jumpy as they skirted any suspicious areas large enough to conceal a threat in darkness.

“Shut it, Sam,” Dean replied, his eyes focused straight ahead. “I’ve got a plan. Now just shut up and run.”

“Wanna share?” Sam gasped, already feeling his muscles complaining at the exertion.

“Remember the salt mine we checked out when we were hunting that wood sprite thing? We’re headin’ there. Stay inside until dawn and we should be all right. ‘Cause there’s no way in Hell we can outrun them.”

Sam smiled, putting on an extra burst of speed. “That might just work, Dean.”

“Yeah, I thought so,” Dean agreed with a grin. “Now do you remember where it is? I left the map in the car.”

                                                                              ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

What seemed only a minute later, a loud, reverberating horn sounded through the forest, sending shivers down their spines as a sudden eruption of barks and growls pierced their ears, making Sam and Dean drop in pain as they clutched their hands over the sides of their heads to block out the noise. The baying of the hounds increased in volume, the sounds shredding the peacefulness of the wood until Sam and Dean cried out in reply, the sound lost in the vibrating din of the Hunt’s call as the blood seeped slowly out of their ears. Even if they were not participating in this Hunt, the hounds’ blood rallied to the Hunter’s call and they cried out their allegiance to Woden, to Herne, to Cernunnos – to all the many names that deified the Master of the Hunt – demanding their share of the kill with the hot taste of blood on their tongues.

“Oh, _fuck_ , that _hurts_ ,” Dean hissed, unsteadily rising to his feet, blood smeared over his cheek and dotting the shoulders of his jacket. Sam nodded dumbly, his own face pale with the strain of standing.

They stood dumbfounded for a minute, still dizzy from the abrupt cessation of the pain when they heard a soft rustling coming towards them. They turned in the direction of the sound, hesitating as they decided what they should do, when a rolling wave of forest creatures flew and skittered and slid past. A squirrel landed on Sam’s shoulder, startling him into emitting a very girlish yelp as its claws dug into his skin before it leapt to the safety of the nearest branch, hop-scotching its way from tree to tree until it disappeared from sight. A bear brushed by Dean, the slick oiliness of its fur surprising him as it swept the length of his arm, nearly spinning him on his feet with its sudden weight pressing against him. Every animal was on high alert, ears pitched forward and eyes wide with instinctive terror as they ran as fast and as far as they could.

Sam and Dean glanced at each other, and Dean said in resignation, “They’re coming.”

                                                                               ~~~~~~~~~~~~~

“We’re never gonna make it to the mine,” Sam said, panting. “It’s still a couple of miles east.”

“Dammit!” Dean cursed in agreement, pausing in his full-out run when he admitted to himself that his brother was right. He leaned over, sucking in air as he rested his hands on his knees, trying to get the pounding in his head to die down to a low throb. “We need a new plan.”

“What we need is a way to get there faster,” Sam demurred, his eyes slanting in thought as he tugged on his lower lip.

“What we _need_ are weapons,” Dean cursed under his breath, quietly berating himself for the loss of the shotgun back at the Gate. Even Sam’s knife would have been welcome, but it was probably thick with congealing blood, still stuck in the wood sprite’s carcass a mile or so behind them.

“Car’s out – would have to go straight through the bulk of the Riders,” Sam continued, ignoring him. “But maybe….” Sam grinned, his teeth a sudden flash of white in the growing darkness. “But maybe we could borrow a horse from one of our new friends.”

“Are you fuckin’ kiddin’ me, Sam?” Dean grunted, standing upright to stare incredulously at his obviously brain-damaged brother. “One, neither us know how to ride a horse. Two, have you _seen_ those horses? I’m not sure they even qualify as ‘horse’ – four-legged hell-beast with hooves that could cut glass and would eat us for breakfast, _maybe_.”

Sam hesitated before saying, “I went a few times with Jessica. She taught me how to ride well enough to get us were we’re going.” He sighed before adding, “It’s our best bet, Dean. We need something to help us get there fast, and I don’t see anything else.”

“What about the lore?” Dean demanded bluntly. “When you ride with the Hunt, you’re trapped and are forced to ride forever. Isn’t that how it goes?”

“We won’t be riding _with_ them, Dean,” Sam stated patiently. “We’ll be riding _away_ from them. The legends also say that Woden’s word is law. He promised us freedom for eluding his Hunt.”

Dean looked doubtful. “I don’t think lawyerly semantics will help us with this one, Sam. Are you _sure_?” Dean turned the full weight of his gaze onto his brother, his wide-eyes boring through Sam as he waited for an honest response.

Sam fidgeted, brushing his damp hair from his forehead. “Sure as I can be.”

“Good enough for me,” Dean replied, glancing up at the still cloudy night sky as he mentally cursed the idiocy of creatures too stupid to hunt when it wasn’t raining – mindfully ignoring the fact that he and his brother had been doing just the same to start this whole mess off. “So what’s the plan?”

“Bait and tackle,” Sam shrugged. “One of us is the bait….”

“…and the other tackles the Hunter who takes it. Got it. So we need to find one who’s alone.”

Sam tossed a hesitant grin in Dean’s direction, daring to joke after nearly a year, “Let’s hope they have Dad’s ego then, and don’t hunt in pairs.”

A small smile flitted over Dean’s face before he replied, “Shut it, Sam. Let’s set up.”

                                                                              ~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Sam stood in an illuminated patch of cleared forest, the moon nearly a spotlight on his tall frame as the stars twinkled encouragingly above him in the open patches of sky, the rain still falling in steady warm drops as thunder rumbled almost soothingly behind the hills. He all but had a neon sign flashing “prey” over his head; Sam even affected a limp, trying to draw the nearest predator to him, knowing that weakness was an instinctive lure. He momentarily debated spilling a little more blood, and then remembered with fearful clarity the questionable red stains on the muzzles of the horses.

“Can it, DeNiro,” hissed Dean’s voice from above. “We’re not trying to win an Academy Award here.”

“I’m just trying to get some attention,” Sam replied stiffly, not daring to move his lips too much in case something was watching. “No one’s taken the bait, yet, and I’ve been standing here for over ten minutes.”

“Heh, now we know why you couldn’t survive as a hooker,” Dean snickered. “Show some leg!”

Sam ignored him, replying thoughtfully, “Maybe it’s lack of pheromones – like those hunters who use deer urine to entice bucks into shooting range….”

“What?” Dean interrupted with contrived incredulity. “You want me to pee on you or something?”

A loud zipping sound could be heard and Sam frowned up at his brother on the tree branch arching over his head in the dark. “Don’t you even dare, asshole.”

Dean coughed back a laugh, dropping his fingers from the zipper of his jacket just as they heard something large breaking through the trees in the distance, railroading through the obstacles in its path as it honed in on the scent of its prey.

The beast edged its head through the brush, its red eyes focusing on Sam standing so still across the glade, and the Rider edged his mount forward, pulling his hunting knife from its sheath. With a shrieking cry, the Rider urged his horse towards Sam and it leapt for him, Sam adding a cower to his acting repertoire as he cringed from their approach. As the Hunter slashed his knife towards Sam, Dean emitted a strangled Tarzan yell and swung off his branch, kicking the Rider with both feet to knock him from his mount. Dean followed him to the ground, grabbing his cloak and punching him repeatedly until he passed out.

Meanwhile, Sam was trying to corral the horse, keeping out of reach of the animals’ sharpened hooves and teeth as he tried to grab the reins.

“These guys are _filthy_ ,” Dean muttered loudly with undisguised disgust as he wiped his knuckles off on his jeans, grabbing the Rider’s fallen knife off the ground. “Either the afterlife or wherever they’re from doesn’t believe in personal hygiene or they’ve camouflaged themselves with mud and blood.”

“Must be a relatively new Hunter. He’s been blooded – it’s an honorific they carry with them, initiating them into the Hunt with the blood of their first kill,” Sam grunted from several yards away, making another snatch at the reins. “God-damn horse won’t stay still!”

Dean smirked, turning as he said, “Way to go, Lone Ranger. Thought you were the horseman….”

Another Rider loomed out of the darkness across the way, raising his long bow as he took aim at Dean standing so openly before him, a prize for the taking. A stray beam of moonlight glinted off the silver sprig of rowan pinned to his cloak, offering the brothers the small comfort of an honorable death granted by a Rider placed high in the Hunt’s Court. With a muffled grunt, Sam clenched his fists together and swung, grazing the Rider’s arm just enough to send the shot a little wide, making the arrow graze Dean’s rib cage, adding a sudden surge of red to his already mud-stained shirt.

Dean crumpled with a cry as the bow fell from the new Rider’s hands. Sam ignored the threat, surging towards Dean with a blank look of horror sweeping over his face when he saw the now red cloth sculpted to his brother’s side. Sam landed on his knees with a soft squelch in the muddy dirt, propping Dean up as his fingers grazed over the torn flesh, feeling the stickiness of Dean’s blood coating his hand, the color never fading even as the warm rain still softly fell - a benediction, a purification of the fallen.

“Look at him,” Dean grimaced, his eyes wide, but tight with pain. Sam ignored him, gone to that inner place where panic slowly overtook reason when he saw his brother harmed.

Dean grabbed at his brother’s shirt, twisting it in his grasp as he tried to force Sam’s head in the direction of the approaching Rider. “ _Look_ at him, Sam!”

Sam looked…and he _saw_. 

                                                                               ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Sam crouched protectively over Dean, who was clutching his ribs with a grimace of pain marring his now mud-soaked features, futilely trying to hold back the blood that was leaking so freely from his arrow-torn skin. They gazed up in a mix of numb horror and disbelief, the familiar lines of their father’s face emerging as the rain washed away the streaks of blood and gore painting his skin, John’s teeth flashing white in snarl as the hazel-green of his eyes blazed with some sort of primal bloodlust.

John’s cheekbones stood out sharply in a face once softened with the burden of middle-age, grey circles pooled under his eyes – John looked as they remembered him after an especially long hunt, the exhaustion carved into every line and hollow of his face. His expression was resolute and focused, as if nothing else in the world existed but what he was hunting.

John’s steed reared, its red eyes blazing, muzzle dripping with remnants of the Hunt’s last kill. Trophies hung from John’s saddle, desiccated heads – mostly monsters they recognized from their own hunting, perhaps some even human, but neither Sam nor Dean wanted to dwell on that idea – hanging from leather thongs attached to the saddle horn.

John raised his hunting ax, the longbow discarded somewhere in the damp darkness of the forest floor behind him. A snarl disfiguring his once solemnly handsome features, he fixed his gaze on the quarry, preparing to spill its blood on the rain-soaked mossy glade in honor of his liege lord, honoring his Master – honoring the Hunt – with the hot slick of life’s blood at his feet.

“Dad,” Dean hissed, eyes flickering with more than physical pain. “No… _please_.”

The fall of the ax stilled, John’s arm shaking with the effort of restraint, something familiar sweeping over his gaunt features. The ax dropped with a muffled thud to the leaf-strewn floor of the forest, John’s fingers spasming at the novelty of a weaponless hand.

“Dean?” John whispered huskily, the word sounding forced and patched together as it fell from a mouth no longer used to human speech. His haggard eyes swept to Sam, still huddling so protectively in front of his wounded brother, Sam’s mouth pressed into a thin line of barely repressed resentment for John again causing Dean so much harm, however unintentionally.

John made a move to get off his mount when a soft, hissing growl came from the shadows beside them. “Stay seated, Hunter,” Cernunnos rumbled, causing the men before him to flinch in response.

The ErlKing walked out into the glade, sitting tall in his saddle as the other Hunters seeped from the trees to form a loose semi-circle behind him. The horses snorted with subdued eagerness, pawing at the muddy ground before them and stretching eager necks for a taste of fresh meat. Sam and Dean barely glanced at the other Riders, noting the same leanness of features and tenseness of expression, as if they hadn’t paused to make camp in a long, _long_ while.

Cernunnos slid from his saddle, his height still impressive even without the imposing muscled mount beneath him. His silhouette stood out starkly against the brightness of the moonlit grass, his antlers casting threatening, sharp-edged shadows across the ground as the clouds slid away from the moon, filling the glade with the full brightness of the orb’s ghostly silver glow.

“These are yours, then,” Cernunnos stated more than asked, his golden eyes sweeping from Sam and Dean to John still seated astride his horse.

John nodded, struggling to put words together. He rasped, “They’re my boys.”

“Hunters of Hunter’s blood,” Cernunnos nearly purred, his reassuring smile disconcerting when he flashed his sharpened teeth. “How… _promising_.”

Dean ignored him, focusing his feverish gaze on his father. “Dad, what are you doing here?”

John opened his mouth to speak and Cernunnos intervened, replying briskly, “Hunters are _mine_. Your father made some notable sacrifices in the name of the Hunt and he was granted a place at my side – to hunt _forever_. That is my gift to him. ”

“Sacrifices? What sacrifices?” Dean pleaded in confusion, his eyes seeking Sam’s as he searched for an answer.

Sam looked away, already understanding, unable to meet his brother’s pained expression.

“Sam!”

“His family,” the ErlKing replied with unfeigned delight. “He sacrificed your happiness for the honor of the Hunt. He raised his bloodline in my name.” Cernunnos smiled at John almost affectionately, and he continued, “How could anyone refuse such an offering?”

Dean looked horrified. “He didn’t! He never honored you!”

Sam squeezed his brother’s shoulder when it looked like Dean was ready to argue further. “Think about it, Dean. His whole life was hunting what killed Mom. He took us with him, made _his_ life _ours_. Don’t you get it? He sacrificed _us_ \- not intentionally - but it amounted to the same thing.”

“ _Fuck you_ , Sam,” Dean growled between clenched teeth.

Sam winced, dropping his gaze to his brother’s still bleeding wound, hiding from Dean’s wide-eyed recriminations behind the tangled curtain of his wet bangs.

Cernunnos’ voice came slinking between them, the words cut sharp on razored teeth, that same affection that had colored his words to their father swathing his next statement with an almost tantalizing tenderness – a sense of complete and utter belonging that pulled at them both.

“Hunters of Hunter’s blood – one day I will come for you _both_. We will hunt side-by-side until the End Times. Perhaps you shall take High Place in my Court as your father has.” The familiar silver curl of rowan gleamed from the cloth gathered at their father’s throat, holding his hunting cloak in place over the broad sweep of his shoulders.

Both Sam and Dean’s eyes shot to the ErlKing looming commandingly above them, disbelief evident on their faces – even as a quiet surge of want coiled enticingly inside them. “We’ve done nothing to deserve that…honor,” Sam stated diplomatically.

Cernunnos’ feathered brows arched curiously. “No? Let us see….” He pointed to Dean, his hawk gaze pinning him in place. “This one was willing to give up his brother to continue, was he not? He let you go away…all the way to Stanford. He has given up every attempt at normal that has ever been made available. He gave up what the djinn offered to return to your side. Is that not a worthy sacrifice?”

Cernunnos swung his gaze to Sam, following the stubborn line of his jaw as Sam ground his teeth. “And you…the _gifted_ one. You allowed your mate to burn. You sacrificed your chance for normalcy every time you refused your brother’s offer to leave. You had a suspicion of what your father planned, yet you allowed him to die. _Both_ of you have sacrificed your heart’s desire for the Hunt, and now you honor me with every drop of blood you spill.”

The ErlKing leaned in, reaching forward with snake-like quickness to press his fingers into Dean’s bleeding wound. With a muffled grunt of discomfort – far too unwilling to show weakness in front of an enemy - Dean grasped the hilt of the fallen Hunter’s knife and swung it wildly under the ErlKing’s arm, hoping to get lucky and to pierce a lung. With a glimmer of amusement making his lip curl upwards, Cernunnos batted his hand away as one would a small child, delighted with Dean’s precociousness. “You will be _mine_.”

A muffled sound of disagreement came from John and Cernunnos fixed his gaze onto their father. John’s face went slack when Cernunnos focused fully on him, rising to his feet with a regal calm that made all of the Riders sit taller in their saddles. Taking a few steps closer, the ErlKing rumbled a low order, urging John to lean down as the Master of the Hunt reached up with his reddened fingers, swiping a wide swath of Dean’s blood over John’s lips with a tender brush of his thumb.

“Not a kill,” Cernunnos murmured huskily, “but a _pledge_. An oath to you, my Hunter, sworn with first blood.”

John’s eyes glazed over as his tongue tentatively flicked out, savoring the bitter copper flavor of his own son that stained the lower half of his face. The Huntsman reawakened in him at the taste, his eyes narrowing with renewed bloodlust as he riveted his hardened gaze on the prey still lying at his mount’s feet. John automatically reached for the short sword strapped to his back, halting only when the ErlKing growled another order, all of the Riders snapping to attention as he swung back onto his horse.

“The night is wasted here,” he told his Hunt, pausing in the delicate cat-like licks of his fingers as he began to clean Dean’s blood from his hands. “We will travel West until the sun rises on this night. There is blood still to be spilled.” Cernunnos slapped at his mount’s flank, leaving a red handprint in startling contrast to his steed’s white flesh, marking him with Dean’s blood just as he’d marked John.

The ErlKing’s mount reared, slashing at the night sky with his forelegs as Cernunnos rallied his Hunt with a sweep of his hand, the low sound of the horn suddenly building as they called for the hounds. “Let us ride!”

With that announcement, the Hunt spurred into motion, the horses leaping after their Master, speeding by in a wall of horseflesh as the dogs poured through the trees after them, a darker inky stain on the landscape as they lowered themselves to the ground and raced to catch up. The baying of the hounds rose in volume until it sounded as if Sam and Dean were trapped in the middle of a flock of screeching raptors, the ache in their heads nearly splitting their skulls until they passed out from the pain.

                                                                           ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Sam squeezed his eyes even more tightly shut, trying to block out the sun glaring through the curtains and the loud birdcalls adding to the subtle pounding in his head. Dean must have taken him on a bender last night and then rudely left the curtains _and_ window open just to torture him.

“Shut the window, Dean,” Sam slurred dazedly.

No one answered.

“Dean?”

Sam dared to open one eye, staring straight into the pale grey face of his brother beside him, Dean’s mouth open and slack as shallow puffs of breath stirred the grass by his face. The previous night overwhelmed Sam in a flurry of images and sensations, and Sam clumsily got to his knees, bending over his brother to check his wounds. “Dean? Dean!” Sam cried, grabbing onto his brother’s shirt and shaking him.

“Sam…fuck, that _hurts_. Stop it,” Dean wheezed, wincing at the pull of the shirt stuck to his wound with dried blood.

Sam sat back on his heels, a dry laugh escaping him as relief flooded through him. “God, Dean. I thought you might be dead.”

Dean’s head fell back onto the grass and he muttered softly, “I’m _never_ gonna die. Not now that I know where I’m goin’.” He stared up at the blue sky peeking through the leaves above him, panting lightly to minimize the sharp flashes of discomfort that made his side cramp, trying not to think too much about anything.

Dean’s hand quested weakly over the grass until he found Sam’s, and he squeezed it with all the strength he had left, more to underline his point than to suggest any sort of brotherly concern – he may have been damned, but he wasn’t a fucking _girl_. “You can’t die, either. Not till we find a way out.”

Sam grimaced, the corner of his mouth quirking downwards. “Immortality it is, then.”

“I’m serious, Sam.” When Dean felt Sam’s fingers twitch under his, he realized he’d officially passed into girl territory about three seconds ago so he allowed his hand to drop into the grass. His blood darkened palm curled towards the sky like a dead spider, far too tired to move any further.

“I know, Dean,” Sam agreed softly. “We’ll find a way.” Sam’s eyes cautiously grazed the bloodstained shirt dried to his brother’s skin, studying the size of the tear in the fabric and the hints of ripped, reddened flesh peeking from what he could see of his brother’s pale skin.

“Dad, too,” Dean promised, his voice lowering. His breath hitched and Dean cursed the summer pollen for making him phlegmy, not daring to admit to the moment of pure panic making his throat constrict. “Hunting forever…no rest for the wicked,” he mumbled dazedly under his breath, his head lolling away from Sam as he tried to collect himself.

“It may be too late for him, Dean,” Sam suggested softly, wincing at the startling pale arc of Dean’s cheek that he could see from where he was sitting.

“Don’t say that, Sam,” Dean demanded, rolling his head back to face his brother. “Just… _don’t_.” His expression told Sam more than what he asked – Dean’s eyes held this pained blankness that said he already knew it was too late, but couldn’t admit that stark truth out loud…not yet.

Sam opened his mouth to reply, closing it only a moment later when another flash of pain made his brother’s eyes flutter closed. “I’ve gotta get you to the car so I can patch this up, Dean. Think you can walk?”

“It could happen, if you can get me upright,” Dean informed him with a brave attempt at a wry grin, effectively putting the conversation behind them. “Work those biceps, Sammy.”

“It might be easier to carry the car here,” Sam disagreed, shifting his arm around his brother’s waist to help him to stand. Dean groaned as the change in position pinched his side, his legs feeling numb from his night on the uncomfortable forest floor.

“Are you sayin’ I’m fat?” Dean argued, leaning heavily against Sam as they moved towards the car, Sam mostly dragging him.

“Too much pie,” Sam replied with a huffed chuckle.

An annoyed expression crossed Dean’s already wan features, and he opened his mouth to retort when Sam cut him off.

“Shut up, Dean,” Sam stated, already panting. “The car is nowhere near here and your ass is getting exponentially heavier with every step I take. You defy the laws of physics.”

“That’s me,” Dean agreed sleepily. “I’m a rule breaker.” He was finding it more difficult to keep his eyes open, and he bit the inside of his cheek until he tasted blood, trying to stay aware enough to help Sam out.

“I’m counting on it,” Sam murmured breathlessly, hauling his brother’s weight beside him, his long arm curled protectively around the curve of Dean’s waist. “For us both.”

  



End file.
